My apartment was tiny. The pipes screamed every morning, and the kitchen window refused to shut, but it was mine.
Violet showed up during the first week with groceries and a plant I managed to kill in nine days.
“You need curtains,” she said. “Maybe a rug.”
“I need rent money, V.”
“You need a home-cooked meal. That’ll fix everything.”
That was how I met Rick—Violet’s grandfather.
The first Sunday Violet brought me to his estate, I stood in his dining room pretending I understood the art on the walls. I complimented the silverware, staring at the array of forks and knives like I was preparing for surgery.
Violet leaned toward me. “Start from the outside and work your way in.”
“I don’t like you right now.”
“You’d be lost without me.”
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